


tremulation

by flirtygaybrit



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Apokoliptian Technology, Handcuffed Together, M/M, Unexpected Trips to Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtygaybrit/pseuds/flirtygaybrit
Summary: Being chained to a coworker with a pair of unbreakable extraterrestrial handcuffs would be an inconvenience for anybody, but for Barry and Arthur, it’s practically the end of the world. It’s literally the worst thing that could have possibly happened.





	tremulation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [susiecarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/gifts).



> For one of the loveliest and most inspiring people in the DCEU fandom, I give you this wonderfully ridiculous scenario: what if Barry and Arthur were handcuffed together?
> 
> I had a blast working on this fic, and I genuinely hope you enjoy it! Additionally, minor spoilers for anyone who, like Brad Pitt, wants to know [what's in the box](http://dc.wikia.com/wiki/Multi-Cube), what the box's exterior was [inspired by](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murex), and what [the helmet](http://dc.wikia.com/wiki/Atlantean_Helmet) might look like.

“Tremulation is the most subtle form of motion. (...) because all things are so connected by threads and sinews, that what is touched in one place is felt in another.” - Emanuel Swedenborg, _On Tremulation_

—

Being on a team is really great. Being on a team of superheroes is even better.

Most of the time.

It’s probably fun to be on a sports team, or… maybe an office team. Or something. Barry’s not great at teams, and this is the first one he’s been in, but he’s pretty sure that teams don’t get much better than this. A team of superheroes is a different league of people altogether, and to call their particular team unique would be an understatement the likes of which the world has probably never seen.

And it’s good work, being on a superhero team. Rewarding work. The hours are kind of odd, admittedly, since aliens and government organizations and supervillains (supervillains!) don’t tend to work nine-to-five, and it can get exhausting. Mentally, mostly, in Barry’s case, since his metabolism doesn’t really allow for exhaustion as much as extreme life-threatening hypoglycemia. but it’s just nice to be around these people. It’s nice to be able to get a real job and start working on his life without being discovered, and it’s nice to know that if a crisis turns up, someone else is always there to step in—or fly in, glide in, swim in, leap impossible lengths in—and lend a hand if he needs it. It’s nice to be around other people with cool powers, period, but the best thing about this team is that he doesn’t have to be alone—

“Yeah, I get it,” Arthur grouses, rubbing at one of his eyes like a cranky toddler. He doesn’t look tired, but he does look like he’s running out of patience. “You know Bruce gave everyone that speech. _No man is an island_ and all that bullshit.”

“Well, teamwork _does_ make the dream work,” Barry points out. He stares at the floor for a while, listening to the roar of water in the Batcave fill the silence. “And, uh, speaking of, when do you think Bruce is gonna be able to get these off?”

He lifts his hand, jangling the chains of the seamless Apokoliptian manacle joining his wrist to Arthur’s.

Arthur tips his head back, closes his eyes, and sighs.

—

As it turns out, teamwork only makes _some_ dreams work.

As far as any member of the League can tell, the manacles are all but indestructible. They spend nearly an entire day testing the limits of their strength trying to break them: Clark’s heat vision won’t melt them, nor will his frigid breath freeze and shatter them, and even his immense strength (combined with Arthur’s, and Barry’s, and Diana’s and Victor’s, too) isn’t enough to bend the links. There are no visible latches with locks to pick; no technological mechanism that Victor or Bruce can access (or even detect); even a blow from Diana’s sword does little more than rattle the chain and produce a few sparks.

Normally, something like this wouldn’t be a problem for Barry. Indestructible objects are hardly an obstacle for him, thanks to a weird Speedforce-related ability that he’s pretty sure is just voluntary quantum tunnelling, but even his best attempts to push himself molecule by molecule through the band of alien metal have proven ineffective. 

And that’s kind of terrifying.

It’s a good thing that they were wearing their suits when the Apokoliptian invader had snapped them into place, at least. Barry’s done a lot of pulling and tugging over the past twenty-four hours. His arm is already kind of sore, and he doesn’t even want to know how much this thing would chafe his wrist.

Arthur isn’t doing much better with the situation. His frustration is written all over his big, intimidating face, and he holds his quindent so tightly that Barry’s pretty sure it’s going to snap. Being chained to a coworker with a pair of unbreakable extraterrestrial handcuffs would be an inconvenience for anybody, but for Barry and Arthur, it’s practically the end of the world. It’s literally the worst thing that could have possibly happened.

(Actually, that’s not true. Bruce and Clark being handcuffed together would probably be an objectively worse situation for everyone on the team. All they do is bicker over strategy, argue about leadership, and ignore one another’s best and most reasonable ideas, thus encouraging the team to further divide themselves on almost any given issue. Barry is, like, 80% sure their arguments are just really misguided flirting, but it’s still kind of uncomfortable to watch.)

Barry and Arthur, on the other hand, don’t have any such quarrel. They don’t clash the way Clark and Bruce do, but that’s mostly because Barry has never really approached Arthur outside of a group setting, and the few conversations they’ve had one-on-one have been about League-related duties, not pop culture or science or the weather or anything.

It makes things infinitely more awkward when they have to spend the night together.

They’re staying in the Batcave for the evening, lying side-by-side on a couple of comfortable chairs that Alfred managed to dig out of some hidden corner. Barry’s not a back-sleeper, though, and they only have about a foot of chain links between them, which makes it impossible to turn away and sleep comfortably back-to-back. Everyone else has split up for the night, even Bruce. They’ll likely meet again in the morning to discuss another plan, but for now it’s just the two of them, alone in the dark with only the rush of water filling the silence.

“You think someone in Atlantis might have something that can help?”

“Doubt it,” Arthur says flatly. He’s probably loving this situation even less than Barry. At least Barry can call out of work for a few days and feign illness to keep people from getting suspicious if they can’t find a quick fix. Arthur might be able to do the same, though Barry’s not sure if Arthur even really has a job. Either way, he’s probably keeping Arthur from doing something important, but would it be appropriate to apologize for getting handcuffed to him? Would it matter?

“You know, I’ve kind of always wanted to go there.”

Arthur twists his head and fixes Barry with a particularly scathing stare, but all Barry can think about is how huge Arthur’s head is next to him. Everything about Arthur is big, even when he’s half-horizontal and not towering over everybody, and it would be easy to be afraid of his unpredictable temper up close like this, but for a few long seconds he doesn’t say anything.

“No, that’s not gonna work.”

“Why not?”

“Too dangerous down there,” Arthur says, as if Barry doesn’t do dangerous things all the time. Dangerous things that Arthur himself gets involved in, no less. “I’m not risking it.”

“But they might have some way to get this off,” Barry says, jangling the chain. It doesn’t sound like normal metal; there’s something unsettling about it, like the somber rattle of a prisoner’s chain. _You’ll wear these for life_ , it seems to say. Barry’s not about to let alien handcuffs tell him what to do.

Arthur shrugs. “Or, how about this: they don’t and we’re fucked until we find a way to get these off that doesn’t involve taking you on a trip to the bottom of the ocean.”

“Ugh, I can handle a little bit of water,” Barry groans, tipping his head back against the chair. The recessed lights in Bruce’s ceiling are dim enough for Barry to stare up at until his eyes start to cross. “Seriously, I think it’s worth a try. You guys are supposed to be some kind of advanced species, right?”

“Atlantis isn’t full of goddamn aliens from Apokolips,” Arthur growls. “And there’s shit down there you don’t need to get involved with. Not everyone’s as friendly as I am. If the water pressure didn’t kill you, the guys with the big teeth and bloodlust would.”

Barry has to take a moment to digest that. It’s true that the ocean is deep and full of terrifying creatures, but it’s kind of touching that Arthur’s looking out for him. At least he can count on someone in the world to actively keep him safe from ocean-dwellers with big teeth. “Are you sure you don’t know anyone who has something we could use? Like, there’s not a hidden treasure chest with some secret weapon we could try?”

“Pretty sure,” Arthur says. It has a disappointing air of finality to it, and the longer Barry waits for him to elaborate, the more uncomfortable and tense the silence seems to become.

“Okay,” Barry says after a while. He blinks his eyes shut and the after-image of the light dances on his eyelids. “Well, just so you know, I can’t poop when someone’s watching, so if we can’t find some way to get these handcuffs off, that’s gonna be a rest-of-your-life thing you gotta deal with. And it’s kind of starting to get nasty in this suit, too. I don’t know if you need to take yours off, but I usually try to clean it at least twice a week. I shower more often than that, though. That’s probably gonna be every day.”

Arthur drops his hand with a loud sigh. 

“Say you can keep up with me in the water,” he says finally. 

Barry grins to himself. “I can probably out-swim you, but please, go ahead.” 

“Have fun out-swimming me when it’s so dark you can’t see shit,” Arthur replies. “Maybe swimming fast won’t hurt you, but what’s gonna happen at those depths? What’ll kill you faster, the pressure or the lack of oxygen?”

“No offense, but I can move my body through walls,” Barry says, turning his head back toward Arthur. “I don’t think pressure or oxygen is gonna be a problem for me if it isn’t for you. Besides,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at Arthur, “can’t you, I dunno, manipulate water or something? Isn’t that why they call you the Aquaman? I know Bruce still thinks it’s fish but can’t you make me a little Bojack Horseman air bubble thing so I can breathe and talk?”

He’s pretty sure Arthur hasn’t seen Bojack Horseman, or anything on Netflix, which is a shame because Arthur would probably love Netflix. And shows about anthropomorphic animals. Or maybe he would not love them.

Arthur’s still staring at him.

“I’m just saying, maybe someone—”

“Okay,” Arthur says.

Barry blinks at him, mouth still half-open. “O…kay?”

“Okay,” Arthur repeats. “Let’s go to Atlantis. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something that can slice through these bullshit handcuffs.”

“Razor clam,” Barry stage-whispers, unable to keep himself from imagining Arthur wrapping his fingers around a razor clam and tugging it out of the—wow, alright, that’s a mental image he’ll never forget. “That was a joke. I’m sorry. I know you hate ocean puns.”

Arthur shrugs his shoulder and returns his head to neutral so that he can stare up at the ceiling some more. “It’s fine. If you try to make any while we’re in the water, though, I’ll cut your hand off at the wrist and leave you for the sharks.”

He sounds pretty serious, but he kind of looks like he’s smiling.

—

They get up bright and early in the morning, earlier even than Bruce, and prepare to make their way to the harbour. Arthur is very much not a morning person, Barry discovers almost immediately, but it’s hard to be a morning person when someone is handcuffed to you and can’t stand more than an arm’s length away.

Going to the bathroom has really been the most terrible part of this so far.

They’re up so early that most of Gotham has not yet begun to stir. There’s mist or fog or some similar precipitation rolling across the water in the cool morning air, and even the sun is hidden behind a bank of clouds, or maybe just isn’t up yet, it’s kind of hard to tell. There’s a boat docking zone with a pier that they follow out into the harbour, and Barry can’t help but shiver as he glances down at the water, lapping gently a few feet below them.

“So we’re just gonna hop in?” he asks, glancing at Arthur. He’s full of nervous energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet; Arthur has his quindent in hand, and he’s staring out across the bay with a far-off look on his face. “You think it’s gonna be cold?”

“Only one way to find out.” 

Still bouncing, Barry nods. “Cool. And how am I gonna know when we’re there?”

“Just follow my lead,” Arthur says. He shifts his quindent to the hand tethered to Barry, who shuffles along awkwardly as Arthur begins to climb down the ladder and into the water.

“Yeah, you know I have no choice but to follow your lead, right? Handcuffs?”

“Figure of speech.”

“And what if we need to stop? What if there’s something that I don’t see? How am I supposed to know if we’re in danger?”

“I can see just fine,” Arthur says, still partway down the ladder. He holds out his hand. Barry can’t tell if it’s to put slack on the chain, or if he’s trying to get Barry to take it. “I’ll guide you. Don’t worry about it.” 

“You _say_ that,” Barry says. He takes Arthur’s hand. It’s not really warm, but it’s not exactly cold, either. He still can’t tell if that’s what Arthur’s trying to get him to do. “But what happens if we run into a giant squid? Or those big spider-crabs? Can you rear-view mirror it just in case something tries to eat me while you’re not looking?”

Arthur stares up at him. He kind of looks like he’s just short-circuited, like something about a valid fear of voracious ocean creatures doesn’t exactly compute. Barry doesn’t let go of his hand, just in case.

“Nothing’s gonna eat you,” he says, tugging gently as Barry begins making his way down the ladder and into the water. “And if anything tries, just… phase through it, or whatever the hell you do.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Barry says, trying his hardest not to imagine what it might be like to move every molecule of his body through a shark’s gaping maw. The water’s kind of cool, but is it just his imagination, or is Arthur’s hand getting warmer in the water? “The only problem with phasing through something while we’re like this”—he jangles the chain—“is that I can’t do anything to save you if something big and tentacle-y wants a man-sized snack.”

Arthur looks at him for a long moment, evaluating him with those judgemental eyes the colour of ice. “You should kick that thing into gear now. We got a long trip ahead of us.”

Being able to slow down time changes a lot of things about the way Barry can perceive forces acting on him, but compared to being tugged around by a normal person, the strength and speed of a metahuman like Arthur is a radically different experience. As Arthur begins to swim backwards and away, Barry can feel the slack being gathered through the chain, his wrist, the muscles in his arm, his elbow—

which means it’s time to go, so he changes frequencies and becomes a ball of brilliant electricity as Arthur leads them underwater, through the Gotham harbour, and toward the Atlantic ocean.

*

It’s kind of embarrassingly easy for Barry to keep pace with Arthur for the first little while. Arthur seems to think that the ocean is his domain and his only, but sometimes it feels like he forgets that Barry could probably walk along the ocean floor (hypothetically speaking, obviously) from one end of the world to the other, and come on the other side only slightly damp.

That said, he’s never actually tried to walk on the ocean floor, and the water pressure is something he’s never really given thought to, so he’s glad that Arthur keeps them relatively close to the surface, deep enough that they won’t run into fishing nets or other vessels, but not so deep that Barry can’t see the light filtering in from above; it’s not even labour-intensive, since all he has to do is kind of let Arthur drag him along, so Barry doesn’t even start to feel nervous about being pulled through the ocean until they change course and begin to descend, slowly losing light until Barry’s sight begins to fail and then is lost completely.

Usually, Barry can rely on his electrical discharge to brighten up the immediate vicinity, but down here, not even the electricity can penetrate the dark.

Barry can’t even tell if Arthur’s looking back to check on him.

Until now, he’s been allowing Arthur to believe that he’s been towing Barry along like a piece of intangible cargo, and until now, it’s kind of worked for him to act that way; with everything slowed down, it’s easy to feel the slightest change in tension in the chain holding them together, so Barry can easily anticipate which direction they’ll be moving in. That was fine when Barry could _see_ , but now that the darkness has closed in, with the water damping his electrical discharge and making it impossible to see even Arthur a few feet away from him (let alone his surroundings, or anything that might be lurking nearby) the thought of navigating the ocean with only Arthur as a silent guide is really, truly starting to terrify him.

When he’s finally had enough, he tugs on the chain, and suddenly finds himself thankful that he can’t accidentally slide his molecules through whatever material the handcuffs are made of; with a fresh wave of terror washing over him at the thought of accidentally phasing through and losing Arthur in the dark, he tugs harder and braces himself.

On land, Barry’s been able to test his strength and speed in almost every possible scenario. He’s capable of generating enough force to activate alien technology, and he can practically go toe-to-toe with Clark on a good day. Right now, he’s moving quickly enough that his body is passing through everything in its path—everything but the handcuffs, which Arthur, even with his own super strength and speed, may not be able to withstand.

Oh, god, he’s going to rip Arthur’s arm off.

In a panic, he reaches out his arm to put slack on the chain, but it feels like he’s acting too late; it no longer feels as if he’s moving forward with Arthur, and he can feel the chain on his wrist being pulled in several different directions, like he’s caught a large fish on a bait hook and it wants desperately to pull free. To become more or less tangible now would probably be a death sentence, so he reaches for the chain, feels his way to the cuff attached to Arthur’s wrist, and prays desperately that the inertia won’t be enough to pull Arthur’s entire arm from his body.

If he makes it back to the surface alive and in one piece, he’s going to spend the rest of his life buying Arthur junk food and reassuring him that he was right. This is the worst idea anybody has ever had in the history of bad ideas. 

And then something strange happens.

The water disappears.

He knows because the air is suddenly full of electrical energy, crackling around him in a blinding display of brilliant blue light, and suddenly he can see Arthur, who is… standing, apparently, with both arms still intact; one of his hands is wrapped around his quindent, which has been shoved into the dirt under their feet like a garden decoration, and one of his hands is—oh, would you look at that. In Barry’s hands.

All at once, the lightning stops, but before the world goes black again, Barry catches sight of the water beyond Arthur, shimmering as though behind an invisible barrier.

The dark rushes in, bringing with it the gentle sound of rippling water.

“Easy,” Arthur’s saying, “just take it easy. Deep breaths. You’re not gonna die down here. Everything’s cool.”

Barry realizes belatedly that Arthur’s hand is currently still clutched between his own. He takes a deep breath and also realizes that the air pressure isn’t killing him.

“We have to go back,” he says, addressing the pitch-black space where he’s pretty sure Arthur is standing. This isn’t the kind of dark where you can almost kind of see things moving out of the corner of your eye. It’s the kind of dark where your brain tricks you into seeing things that you know are there, and this is precisely the kind of dark that Barry is not fond of. “This isn’t gonna work. I can’t—I can’t stay down here. I can’t see anything, I just—something is going to eat me, I know it is. Nothing good is going to happen down here.”

He has, you know, a passing knowledge of the abyssopelagic zone, and he’d maybe been curious enough about Arthur in the past to try Googling some stuff about the ocean floor, but he’d noped out after discovering the foot-long hadal amphipods, among other things. Strange creatures from space have thus far proven to be mostly terrifying and unpleasant to be around, Clark aside, but things from the ocean? Forget it. He knows there’s got to be something floating just beyond their intimate little bubble, even though he can’t see it. Sailors were right to fear the ocean. There’s a reason sane people don’t like swimming out in open water.

Arthur’s quiet laugh startles him out of his thoughts, but to his relief, it doesn’t feel like Arthur’s laughing at him, and Barry finds himself leaning gladly in the direction of that laughter, still awkwardly rubbing his fingers over the edge of the manacle where it meets the carved metal of Arthur’s gauntlet. If he can’t see Arthur, at least he can feel him.

“You know how far down we are, right?”

Barry shuffles in place a little, kicking at the ground. “This is the ocean floor, isn’t it.”

“Yep,” Arthur says. There almost seems to be a reverb to his voice, lending it an oddly soft, musical quality. It’s not exactly an echo, but it’s nothing like Barry’s ever heard before. Then again, he’s never been on the ocean floor surrounded by water and thousands of pounds of crushing pressure before, either. “But we’re getting close. If you made it this far, you can make it the rest of the way.”

Barry tries closing his eyes to calm himself down, but it doesn’t really change anything. He focuses on the soft jingle of the chain as Arthur moves his hand out of Barry’s and rests it on his shoulder.

“Or we can turn back. I could signal for help from the surface. Your call.”

While Barry’s heart returns to a more manageable pace, he leans into Arthur and sighs.

“We should probably keep going if we’re almost there. Right?”

“Only if you wanna go,” Arthur says. “We can always go back up. You already know there’s no guarantee that they’ll have anything we can use.”

Okay. Worst case scenario, they get to Atlantis and nobody has any idea how to get these handcuffs off. Or maybe the worst case scenario is that they need to dive to the bottom of the deepest trench in the ocean to get enough pressure to crack them, and maybe he or Arthur dies in the process. They can’t get much deeper than the ocean floor, and it can’t get any darker or more terrifying than this.

“I know,” Barry says finally, “but… if we’re this far down… we might as well keep going?”

Arthur chuckles quietly and squeezes Barry’s shoulder hard enough that he can feel it through his suit. “That’s my man. You need another moment, or?”

“I’m good,” Barry says with very little confidence. He takes a step forward and bumps into something large, and that massive hand on his shoulder turns him slowly in the opposite direction.

“We go this way,” Arthur says quietly. His voice is close enough that he could be murmuring it into Barry’s ear. “I’m gonna collapse the bubble, so get ready.”

“Wait. Is Atlantis going to be this dark, too?”

Arthur squeezes his shoulder again. “Oh, you’ll know Atlantis when you see it.”

The air pocket is suddenly illuminated by a blinding flash of lightning as Barry kicks his powers into gear. Now that he has more than a few seconds to look, he can tell with certainty that they’re standing on a sandy surface, though since his vision doesn’t extend beyond the strange shifting wall of water that Arthur has surrounded them with, it’s impossible to tell where they might be, how deep Arthur might have taken them, or whether there are any deep-sea creatures lurking around with razor teeth and empty bellies.

Barry resolutely tries to put that image out of his mind, and he glances at Arthur instead for the first time since they left the surface. The light from the electrical discharge refracts off the water’s rippling surface, creating a dazzling display of shifting lights in their tiny sphere that ripples over Arthur’s face and makes Barry feel feel as if he’s inside a disco ball. Arthur’s no longer looking directly at him, but he can still see how Arthur’s eyes catch the light and reflect it, glowing the same eerie blue as the eyes of a shark.

It’s the last thing Barry sees before the water comes rushing in and they’re enveloped in darkness once more.

—

As soon as Barry gets used to the idea of being on the ocean floor, Atlantis surprises him by being located even deeper than that.

He doesn’t actually see it until they’re practically on top of it, and even then it appears out of the darkness like a magic trick, sliding into view as they pass over what must be a great rocky cliff far overhead. From this distance all Barry can see is a dim light far below, but as Arthur leads them deeper into the ocean, the vast, sprawling kingdom of Atlantis grows brighter and brighter, glowing like a beacon of brilliant bioluminescence against the yawning black of the surrounding ocean.

Much of the light that fills the city appears to be coming from the forest of glowing megaflora, shades of soft pinks and blues and greens emanating from the great flared caps of mushrooms while neon strands of shimmering gossamer hang across the gaps like thick vines, giving the city a uniquely organic appearance, each structure connected to the next not with walkways, but with pure light. There are stalks that stretch even deeper still, reaching as far as Barry can see and disappearing into the depths of the ocean.

“Holy shit,” Barry tries to say, and that doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Arthur laughs, the sound ringing bright and clear even through the water, and together they spiral downward through a school of manta rays, spinning toward an open channel toward a throughway filled with slow-moving underwater vessels that, upon closer inspection, are actually massive whales and gargantuan turtles trailing bundles of unknown materials behind them like aquatic freight transports.

This is Atlantis, and the closer they get, the more obvious it becomes that Barry isn’t simply looking at an underwater city built into a sea of swaying mushrooms. The glowing caps and the long stalks below _are_ the city, forming an immense infrastructure of intricately-carved towers and platforms with rows of lights inlaid like gems and semi-translucent windows that remind Barry of the ancient stained glass windows of churches.

It’s hauntingly beautiful and, to Barry’s relief, nothing at all like the labyrinthine underwater temples in Minecraft.

*

The descent continues for a horrifyingly long time before Arthur begins to slow; they weave around schools of fish that dart wildly in all directions as Barry passes by, past huge ray-finned fish that are not fish but actual underwater vessels with golden spines and brilliant blue jets, and massive glowing jellyfish that illuminate the water like great floating lanterns, until at last Arthur brings himself stop in a cloud of silt and air bubbles, giving Barry just enough time to right himself in the water and take in the great stony structure before them.

Barry’s first impression is that it looks like a Roman temple. Ancient-looking and vast, it looks as if it had once been hewn from rock and left to rot underwater, its thick stony pillars and walls crusted over with marine life. There are barnacles and colourful coral, sponges and polyps, creatures Barry has only read about in marine biology books, and creatures he hasn’t seen at all waving gently in the current. The entrance, too, is massive, and guarded by armoured humanoids that Barry assumes to be guards who don’t look nearly as harmless as the barnacles. Armed with long weapons with fin-shaped stocks and sharp, lethal-looking tips, they remind Barry of ancient Roman soldiers, if Roman soldiers carried smooth rifles with bayonets attached. He wouldn’t dare say it out loud, but the weapons looks like long, particularly stiff fish, which isn’t especially threatening, but he sticks close to Arthur just in case one of them decides to start poking at the only human capable of passing this deep into the sea.

The guards allow them to pass without question, and together Barry and Arthur move inside, twisting through open hallways until they arrive at a closed-off room with a massive table and a single man in the centre. 

The man looks human, mostly, with two arms and two legs and sharp facial features; he has long hair pulled back in a sleek—oh no, is that a man-bun?—updo, but he’s not wearing the same armour as the guards outside, nor is he wearing the same armour that Arthur typically wears on League missions. This man’s clothing, if it can be called that, is dark and form-fitting, more like a wetsuit than a suit of armour. It shimmers faintly in the water, and as they draw closer Barry can see that it’s covered with a strange hexagonal pattern that’s vaguely reminiscent of a fish’s scales.

And speaking of, he has a sword strapped to his back. It doesn’t look quite as fish-like as the weapons the guards were carrying, but Barry still can’t think of an appropriate joke that Arthur wouldn’t immediately disapprove of.

When they come to a stop, Arthur hoists his quindent and taps its hilt on the floor. All around them the water swirls and falls away, driven back by what Barry assumes to be Arthur’s aquakinetic powers. He’s gonna have to ask about those in the future, because how does this work, anyway? Can he pull a breathable mixture of gases from the water and create a chamber with stable sea-level air pressure? Or is he just so strong that the water’s afraid of him?

These are the important questions.

Barry stops vibrating almost immediately and stumbles forward, grabbing at Arthur’s arm for balance. Like the first bubble, he can feel nothing wrong with the air pressure, which is a relief because they’re even deeper than before and he’s pretty sure the pressure here would be enough to implode any ordinary human. Of course, Barry is also not used to sustaining a frenzied molecular energy state for such a long period of time. He’s woozy, the sort of vague haze of moderate hypoglycemia, but Arthur helpfully holds him upright and keeps him from doing the shuffling dance of a drunken sailor until it passes.

“Steady,” Arthur murmurs. “You good?”

“Uhhh,” Barry says. It no longer feels like the floor is about to give out beneath him, at least, and this time he can even see inside the bubble, thanks to the weird thing that’s glowing gently in the water a few feet away. “Yeah, I’m… totally fine. I’m perfect. Barry Allen,” he says, holding a hand out to the man with the man-bun. Or, he tries, but he accidentally tries to offer his shackled right hand, which pulls the chain taut and drags Arthur’s hand along with it. “Oops. Sorry. Barry,” he adds. Left hand, this time.

The man with the man-bun eyes him with a mixture of suspicion and keen interest. His eyes are a warmer colour than Arthur’s, not nearly as alarmingly blue, and when he reaches out a hand of his own, a few errant drops of water fall from his fingers. “Nuidis Vulko. I assume you’re a friend of Arthur’s, from…?”

“Ohio,” Barry says proudly.

Nuidis Vulko’s blank stare suggests that this far below the surface, the word Ohio may not carry nearly as much weight as it does on land. Clearly, Barry has a lot of preconceived notions to get rid of.

“ _Oh_ , yeah, my bad. I’m from the land. America. I’m human.”

“Ah,” Nuidis Vulko says. “It’s a pleasure. Arthur, I was not expecting you back so soon.”

“Yeah, well, we got a problem.” In unison, Arthur and Barry hold up their manacled wrists, letting the chain dangle limply between them. 

“We don’t know what it’s made of, but it’s definitely not from this planet. We’re pretty sure it’s Apokoliptian—”

“—It _is_ Apokoliptian—”

“—Yeah, and we can’t any way to—”

“—break this motherfucker,” Arthur finishes. His gaze meets Barry’s briefly, as though acknowledging that they were pretty in sync there. That was kind of cool, actually. “All of us on the surface, Amazon, Kryptonian, even a guy made from Apokoliptian tech. We all used everything we had. Couldn’t even put a dent in the chain.”

Mr. Vulko leans in and inspects the manacles with great interest, examining first the manacle around Arthur’s wrist, then the one around Barry’s. “So you seek to break the chain?”

“Not just the chain. The whole fuckin’ thing,” Arthur clarifies. “There’s gotta be something down here we can use, right? Some kind of weapon that’ll melt this shit down?”

“Or weaken it enough for me to get through,” Barry adds. 

Mr. Vulko hums, carefully inspecting the seamless metal encircling his wrist from as many angles as Barry’s arm will allow. “How might you do that?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“He can vibrate his molecules. Or realign them. Something. It lets him move through solid objects. Lets him move through water without being crushed.” 

“That’s quite a unique ability,” Mr. Vulko remarks. He rubs his thumb over the cuff of Barry’s suit. “And you are unable to move through this particular material?”

Barry nods, feeling a bit like a fish in a tank under Mr. Vulko’s keen eye. “I don’t know if it’s the density of the metal or if there’s some weird property that keeps it sealed shut, but I can’t phase through it while it’s like this. That’s why I was thinking, you know, even if we just damage it badly enough for me to phase through mine…”

Arthur glances down at him, narrowing his eyes in an expression of suspicion that would have terrified Barry months ago, but doesn’t really bother him all that much now. “Oh, so if you get free, it’s all good?”

“No, no, trust me, I thought of that too,” Barry says. “Just think about it. If we can weaken the bonds holding the molecules of this metal together, then it’ll prove that I _can_ move through it, which means that with a little help, I can probably move you—no, you’re right, bad idea, we should just forget I mentioned it.”

It’s the look of disbelief on Arthur’s face that makes him clear his throat and shuffle his feet, but Arthur’s technically not threatening to murder him again, so this is definitely progress.

“I kinda want you to finish that thought,” Arthur says.

“Kinda?”

But Barry doesn’t get the chance to humour him. Mr. Vulko releases his hand and takes a step back, glancing up at them both. “Apokoliptian, you said? It is possible that I can help.”

Barry and Arthur glance at one another, then at Mr. Vulko. “Really?”

“Seriously?”

“The Queen Atlanna accomplished a great many things in her time,” Mr. Vulko tells them, then makes eye contact with Arthur, his face a grim mask. “I know that the Mother Boxes were highly advanced Apokoliptian technology gifted to us, and it is regarded as one of our most precious artifacts. But I think now it is appropriate to tell you,” he says, lowering his voice until it’s barely above a whisper, “that because of your mother’s efforts, the Mother Box is not the only Apokoliptian technology that the seven seas have harboured.”

Barry doesn’t know much about Arthur’s family or about Atlantis in general, but he feels like he’s just learned something valuable, something he should hold close until a time when it’s safe to ask.

“Great,” Arthur says, after an uncomfortably long silence. “Awesome. How long will it take for us to get it?”

“I can take you there now,” Mr. Vulko says dutifully. He glances at Barry, looking for a moment as if there’s something on the tip of his tongue, then turns away and steps outside the bubble.

Arthur begins to follow him, but Barry stands in place, allowing Arthur to get as far as the chain allows before he’s forced to stop and look back.

“What’s up?”

“You wanna do this right now?”

“...Yeah,” Arthur says. He takes a step back toward Barry, just close enough to slacken the chain. “You don’t?” 

Barry isn’t sure how to articulate the combination of apprehension (Apokoliptian tech has not been especially predictable in the past), disappointment (is it really going to be this easy now that they’re here?), and happiness (he’ll soon have full use of his right hand again, and won’t need to make Arthur turn around so that he can get some privacy in the bathroom) that’s currently swirling around in his stomach, so he shrugs his shoulders and stares down at the ground.

“I should probably… you know. Eat something first,” he mumbles. “You know how this thing works. One minute you’re breaking molecular bonds, the next you’re in a… major caloric deficit…”

Arthur stares at him for what feels like a very long time.

“I’ll get Vulko to find you something,” he says quietly. He tugs gently on the chain until it feels like Barry has no choice but to step closer. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

—

The Apokoliptian tech is located on the outskirts of Atlantis, far enough away that the glow of the underwater metropolis is faint even to Arthur’s eyes. Like the Mother Box, it’s also guarded by numerous heavily-armed and armoured Atlanteans. Members of the royal guard, or something. Arthur remembers seeing a few of them in this garb before, floating lifeless in the water in the tower before Steppenwolf had tried to tussle with him and made off with his precious prize.

The feeling of being thrown through stone pillars is still uncomfortably fresh in Arthur’s mind, and honestly, it’s no less unnerving seeing them dressed up like this. Most of the Atlanteans still make him uncomfortable. They may technically be his people, but everything about Atlantis and its people is creepy as hell on some level.

While they pose no threat to Barry or himself, Arthur still doesn’t like the way the guards watch them as they pass.

He glances sideways as they enter the complex, Vulko in front and Barry vibrating just off to his left. Barry seems to have calmed somewhat, no longer the same nervous wreck that he’d been in the middle of the ocean halfway between Atlantis and the nearest continent, but his nervousness is still written across his face, obvious even behind his mask. Arthur doesn’t blame him for being so on edge. In a world full of people just like Barry, a world of men moving at lightning speed, he would feel… well, calling himself a fish out of water wouldn’t be an inaccurate comparison.

Once they’re surrounded by a chamber of air that Barry can safely pass through at a normal human density, they continue to follow Vulko deeper into the tower, and Arthur leans into Barry and whispers, “So this plan of yours. You’re sure you can get me out if Vulko’s secret weapon doesn’t work?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Barry says. “I just need to be able to phase through the manacle. Even if it doesn’t break through completely, I should be able to...”

He gestures and trails off. It’s not the first time Barry’s brought up this mysterious plan of his, but Arthur is almost hesitant to question what exactly Barry’s plan involves. At least he can say that being chained to Barry has given him a slightly better understanding of his powers, even if most of it is completely beyond Arthur’s comprehension. “So this phasing thing. You tried that before, right? That’s what you’re doing right now, how you can move underwater.”

“I’ve been trying it ever since we got chained together,” Barry says. “But yeah. Don’t ask me to explain it. I’m not a quantum physicist.”

The fact that Barry can potentially explain his powers with such a specific brand of science is… nothing short of miraculous, honestly. A luxury Arthur was never given. He was born with his powers, ridiculed for them, and has lived most of his life simply content to know that there are things he can do because of what he is. To think that there might be some explanation for it beyond that, some specific interaction of cells and molecules and energy that gives him the ability to communicate telepathically with other creatures, to manipulate and communicate with water currents... he’s no genius, obviously, and it’s not like he needs to know precisely how his powers work to use them, but it’s admirable how much Barry seems to know about his own. 

He even made his own suit. Arthur can’t say as much. He’s lucky if he can go a day without all of his clothes ending up in a wet pile on the floor.

“I wouldn’t understand you if you did,” he admits quietly. “But it’s pretty damn cool.”

Barry’s eyes widen, and it takes Arthur a moment to realize that he’s not shocked by Arthur’s admiration, but by the grand pedestal in the centre of the room that Vulko has just led them into.

The inside of the tower reminds Arthur a bit of the structure that had housed the Mother Box, and atop the carved pedestal sits an an ornate white-and-tan cube that looks strikingly similar to the Mother Box’s ancient housing unit. Made of a chitinous exoskeleton not unlike a crab’s crusted over with a reinforced exoskeleton, this box manages to look far more formidable at half the size, and for good reason: it’s covered with long, jagged-looking spines, like the bones of some long-dead creature. 

Vulko reaches out, slipping his fingers gingerly through the spines, and pulls the box from the pedestal. When he turns back toward Arthur and Barry, it’s with a somber expression that Arthur has seen many times throughout his life. 

“The Apokoliptian technology contained within is an indescribably powerful device,” Vulko says. He carries the box closer until he’s standing before them, and he presents it like a royal gift, gaze still fixed on its bony exterior. “This weapon, too, is a cube, much like the Mother Boxes, but its form is smaller, its power condensed. If this cannot free you from your bonds, I am not sure what can.”

Without warning, Vulko cracks open the carapace with his bare hands, and with a look of intense concentration he rests half of the box in one hand and reaches between the broken pieces to retrieve the smaller cube within.

“Wow,” Barry says, watching as the pieces of the exoskeleton fall to the floor, “you really weren’t kidding about it being small.”

The cube that sits in Vulko’s hand is slightly larger than a typical six-sided die, with small gears and tiny, intricate mechanisms on each face. It doesn’t appear to be made of the same metal as the manacles like Arthur had hoped, nor does it have the same smooth, precise edges as the Mother Box, but it looks familiar in a way that Arthur can’t quite place. 

“Can I touch it?” Barry asks, and the memory clicks into place: this miniature Mother Box looks almost identical to a cube that he’s seen Barry toying with during League meetings, a pocket-sized device that seems to have as many functions as faces.

It annoys the hell out of Bruce. Arthur kind of likes this weapon a little bit more because of it.

“This is it?” Arthur asks, trying to maintain a carefully neutral expression. “You’re sure this thing is as powerful as the Mother Box?”

“We would not have secured it if we did not think that it was important to those who misplaced it,” Vulko says. A little vague, but he gets his point across. Whatever this thing is, someone’s probably going to want it back eventually, which means it’s got more to offer than just providing a tactile distraction to people with a genius-level intellect.

Arthur glances at Barry, who doesn’t seem nearly as psyched about it as he should be, then clears his throat and narrows his eyes at it. “Okay, so it’s got some juice. You know how to use this thing?”

Vulko holds the tiny cube between his thumb and forefinger, gazing at it speculatively. “Hm… I have some idea.”

More or less. That’s good enough. 

Arthur nods and holds out his wrist. “Cool. Let’s fry this son of a bitch.” 

Barry holds his arm out too, then sidesteps away from Arthur, moving until his arm is outstretched and the Apokoliptian chain is taut between them. He tries to catch Barry’s eye, waiting for some nervous quip, but Barry hasn’t taken his eyes off of Vulko.

He’s concentrating on the cube, fiddling with the sides of it with his eyes narrowed in concentration, and suddenly a fan-shaped red-orange spray of molten energy erupts from the cube; it bisects the chamber from top to bottom and hisses as it hits the water above and behind them, even tearing up the stone floor between them—

and just as quickly, the beam is gone, and Arthur glances over to see half of the chain dangling limply from his wrist.

“Huh,” Barry says. “That did it. Maybe…”

He comes to life like a bug zapper in the summertime, electricity arcing off of him in blue streaks, but he remains stationary on the floor (Arthur thinks; he wouldn’t know if Barry were stationary or not) for several seconds before shuddering back into existence in a shower of sparks.

“Still can’t get it off,” he announces, tugging ineffectively at the cuff still wrapped around his wrist.

Arthur grins at him, then swings back around to Vulko. “I don’t wanna keep wearing this shitty alien bracelet. Hit me again.”

Vulko clutches the cube in his fingers, staring at Arthur as though he’s just suggested Vulko cut his hand off personally.

“I’m serious,” Arthur says. “Apokoliptian laser trumps Apokoliptian handcuffs, we know that for sure. If we can cut the chain, we can cut the cuffs. Just gotta be careful.”

Across the chamber, Barry sighs. “No, you can’t.”

Arthur looks over. Barry’s pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and lips drawn in a frown, like Arthur and Vulko are little more than bickering children. He stands like that for a moment, then sighs again. “Okay. Arthur, you’re gonna want to stand back. Mr. Vulko, if you don’t mind—”

“Wait a sec,” Arthur says. He holds up a hand to Vulko, who doesn’t look particularly interested in firing the laser again, anyway. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to make sure that laser”—he points at Vulko—“can get this manacle”—he lifts his hand, fingers clenched into a fist—“off of my hand without cutting it off completely. You can go next if it works, it’s no big deal.”

Arthur frowns faintly. He’s pretty sure he knows what Barry’s getting at: if he can phase through solid objects, he can phase through a laser. Given the things he’s seen Barry do in the past, this would be a solid argument if it weren’t for the fact that Apokoliptian technology has proven to be the immovable object to Barry’s unstoppable force. A laser is a hell of a lot more dangerous than a metal handcuff. The idea of allowing Barry to test fate by trying to become intangible long enough for an Apokoliptian laser to melt through an Apokoliptian wristband makes Arthur uncomfortable. He can’t take Barry back to the surface without a hand. He won’t let Barry leave Atlantis unless they make it through this unharmed.

“I go first,” Arthur says finally.

“Uh, no,” Barry says.

“Uh, _yes_ ,” Arthur says, a little bit louder. “You’re not going first. We test it on me, then we finish it on you.”

“ _Or_ we test it on me, because I can move myself away at the last second if it gets too close—”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur says.

Vulko stares between them, evidently unsure of how to react to their argument. “I can attempt to refine the energy output,” he suggests. Barry looks at him. Arthur does too. “Perhaps narrowing the field would reduce the risk of harm. It might be faster than trying to decide who goes first.”

“Works for me,” Arthur says, ignoring Vulko’s intentional barb. Maybe he can take this opportunity to talk some sense into Barry. Whatever he’s planning, it’s probably better for them to talk it out first. “You cool if we take a few minutes?”

Barry rests his hands on his hips, still looking slightly peeved. “I guess. Are we just gonna hang around Atlantis while he works on Rubik over there?”

Vulko probably doesn’t get the reference, and Arthur cuts in before he can question it. “Yeah, actually. Let’s go for a walk. Give him some time.”

“Don’t wander far,” Vulko tells him. He’s speaking to Arthur specifically, since Barry has already started walking toward the exit.

Arthur waves a hand. “You won’t even miss us,” he says, then lopes over to catch up with his friend.

*

He finds Barry at the edge of the water barrier, staring through the rippling wall at the distant outline of Atlantis. It must be difficult for him to see anything this far down. On a whim, Arthur reaches out and brushes his fingers through the water, and slowly the current begins to dissipate until the water barrier is as smooth as glass.

They’re in the southernmost reaches of the kingdom, not for privacy but because this is just where the Atlanteans keep artifacts that are ancient and powerful and too important to be kept among the general population. Unfortunately, there’s not much to look at this far out, even for someone who can see as clearly in the water as Arthur can; a few other towers loom in the distance, but they don’t seem to have caught Barry’s attention. Arthur tries to follow his gaze to see if anything has, but all he can see is empty ocean.

“Does it ever get lonely down here?”

Arthur crosses his arms. “Dunno. I don’t spend a lot of time down here. Why?”

“It’s a big ocean,” Barry says. 

“It’s a big world up there. Do _you_ ever get lonely?”

He gets the feeling he probably shouldn’t have asked almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. Barry exhales and turns away from him, wandering slowly along the water wall with his hand outstretched, the chain hanging loosely from his wrist. His fingers don’t quite touch the water, but Arthur keeps an eye on them just in case.

“It’s weird,” Barry says. “Being down here, I mean. I’m probably the first human to ever visit.”

And he is, as far as Arthur knows. The first full-blooded human to make it to Atlantis and live to tell the tale. It’s not terrible, having someone to share this with. The rest of the League doesn’t really know anything about Atlantis. Arthur has been careful enough to keep it that way until now.

“If you feel like exploring when this is all over, I can give you the tour,” Arthur suggests. “If you’re not in a hurry to get the hell away from the bottom of the ocean.”

He smiles a little. Barry’s back is still turned, and Arthur imagines sending tiny jets of water in the air around him, like small aquatic fireworks. Not as impressive as super-speed, but it would be something.

“Maybe,” Barry says quietly. “This whole thing _has_ been kind of fun, I guess. Alien shackles and all.”

“You got a weird definition of fun,” Arthur tells him.

“No, I’m pretty sure my definition of fun is right.” Suddenly, Barry spins on his heel, and he begins to make his way back to Arthur, fingers still dangerously close to skimming the water. “I never get to hang out with people like this. It’s always ‘we don’t have time to talk about anime versus manga, we have to save the world’ this and ‘conserve your energy and stop trying to take the pin out of the grenade and put it back in’ that.” He heaves an exasperated sigh and lets his hand drop. “I mean, what’s the point of being on a team if you can’t make friends with your teammates?”

Arthur has only a vague idea of what Barry’s referring to. He’s pretty sure that last one was supposed to be an intentionally bad parody of Bruce’s voice. Arthur can relate to that, at least. Getting along with Bruce is like petting a sea urchin; no matter how many spines you avoid, the lightest touch sends every sharp point spinning in your direction.

“You don’t consider us friends?”

“No, that’s the thing. I do. It just sucks that we can’t hang out like this. Like we always need some catastrophe or emergency to bring us together, and we say we’ll see each other again and we’ll keep in contact. Then we all just… go our separate ways.”

Barry’s in front of him now, and he turns back to the distant glow of Atlantis with another heavy sigh.

“But anyway, that’s probably… just me. More importantly, did that guy say your mom’s not around anymore?”

“She was never around,” Arthur says quietly. “What do you mean by ‘it’s just you’?”

Barry shrugs, a sympathetic expression crossing his face. “That’s… man. I’m sorry. But you had your dad, right? And he was… human?” He waits for Arthur to nod, then continues, “I’m sure he did the best he could, though. It’s nice that—”

“We aren’t bonding over parents,” Arthur tells him. “What do you mean, it’s just you?”

Barry opens his mouth and closes it again. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s kinda weird. I just… I mean… you know, you exude this sort of intense, lone wolf, ‘leave me alone, world!’ thing, but…”

Arthur stares at him. He can’t tell where this is going. He’s not entirely sure he’s prepared for whatever Barry is about to dump on him, but he wants to hear it. Barry says a lot of things, and they aren’t always interesting to Arthur or particularly sensible, but sometimes it feels like there’s more that he isn’t saying.

“I guess… I dunno.” Barry clears his throat and looks down. “I mean, Clark can be really nice sometimes, and Diana’s _so_ nice, and Vic, he’s—”

“Nice,” Arthur guesses. Barry nods along, and a few moments of silence pass before Arthur’s amusement and curiosity get the better of him. “And Bruce?”

Barry inhales and lets it out slowly, then chuckles to himself, like they’re sharing an inside joke. “I mean, sometimes. But I feel like I don’t really know you. At least, I felt like I didn’t know you. Or your people. Or anything about you, really. But now…”

Arthur can’t actually recall sharing any information about himself voluntarily, but he supposes this is the most that Barry has learned from him in the short time that they’ve been teammates; Barry is the first and only member of the group to get a first-class ticket Atlantis, the first to meet another Atlantean and see Atlantean technology and buildings up close, the first to walk on the ocean floor in a hydrostatic bubble. He’s the first person from the surface Arthur has felt comfortable sharing this part of himself with, even if it’s only been out of necessity, and he’s determined to make sure that Barry makes it back to the surface in one piece so that he can keep the secrets of the ocean locked away in that smart brain of his.

“It’s been a pretty crazy trip,” Arthur says, nodding slowly. Maybe not a bonding experience he’d ever wanted, but it’s the one he’s been given, and he can’t exactly return it to sender. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure I’ve learned shit about you, too. I didn’t know you could… phase through water like that. It’s cool as hell,” he adds sincerely, and for the first time since they arrived, Barry positively beams at him. 

“It’s because the water molecules and mine are—”

“Don’t,” Arthur interrupts, holding up a hand. “Don’t try to explain it. It’s pretty damn cool, but I don’t really get physics. And I kinda like not knowing.”

Barry gazes at him for a moment. He looks like he’s having a hard time deciding whether or not to be offended.

“Yeah, well.” A small smile spreads across his face. He reaches out and gives Arthur a half-assed punch in the arm, a gesture more fond than frustrated. “I kinda like not knowing about you, too.”

*

When they return to Vulko in the cube’s main chamber, they also return to a solution.

“You got something?” Arthur asks. Vulko looks somewhat less nervous about holding the cube, and he even gives it a tiny shake as he holds it up.

“Nothing new, but I have managed to refine the field of the energy beam and concentrate it into a single cylindrical projection,” Vulko says. He tilts his head toward the floor, where Arthur can see several long, dark ruts in the stone.

“Great. Does that mean we can use it to cut these bracelets off without losing a hand?”

“We can, but we must be extremely careful. It will require immense precision. There is no telling—well,” he says, giving a wry smile, “I think it is obvious what might happen if we do not exercise caution. But in order to avoid destroying the body once the laser is too close...”

“You said you’ll need quick reflexes?” Barry takes a step ahead from where he’s been hanging back and holds out his hand. “You, uh, mind if I give it a try?”

“This is an indescribably powerful device,” Vulko tells him, closing his fingers around the cube. “This is not some toy to be—”

The room lights up with a blue electrical storm, and the cube is suddenly in Barry’s open hand. Vulko looks surprised, to say the least. Arthur can’t keep a smile from crossing his face.

“I can do fast and careful,” Barry says, examining the cube. It reminds Arthur once again of the small distraction cube he so often carries on him, and it looks just as natural between his fingers. “No problem. If I can just figure out the mechanism…”

A beam of light erupts from the cube, slicing straight up into the ceiling and causing a few chunks of rock to clatter to the floor around them. 

The beam stops. 

“Got it,” Barry says confidently. An algae-covered piece of stone falls just behind him and shatters on the floor. “Are we ready to get these things off now?”

Arthur’s been ready to get these things off since the second they were slapped on him. “Only if you practice on me first.”

He holds out his hand, palm up.

Barry looks as if he wants to argue, but Arthur stands his ground, crooking his fingers at Barry to beckon him closer, and after a few seconds of hesitation Barry steps toward him and reaches for Arthur’s hand.

“I’m gonna be careful,” he says, voice low. It’s hard for Arthur to tell which of them he’s trying to convince. “Gonna take this nice and slow. Just hold still.”

“Go as slow as you need to,” Arthur says, and before he can finish the sentence the air blinks red before him and the Apokoliptian cuff falls harmlessly to the ground, its melted metal edges still glowing a soft red-orange.

“Got it,” Barry says triumphantly. He turns Arthur’s hand over in his own, inspecting his wrist for scorch marks, but Arthur’s scaled gauntlets appear to have escaped unharmed. “Wow, that’s one crazy laser. Did you feel anything?”

Barry rubs his thumb over the side of his wrist where the laser must have come close to singeing Arthur’s skin. His fingers are warm and dry, and Arthur gets the faint impression that something is buzzing beneath his fingertips.

“From that box? Not a thing,” he says truthfully, then closes his fingers in a loose fist. Barry’s fingers just barely manage to escape. _Fastest man alive_ , Arthur thinks. “But this feels pretty damn good.”

*

They store the remnants of the Apokoliptian manacles in a new container before they leave: a minuscule, relatively unremarkable box the colour of a king crab, adorned with small spines and a single bolt of lightning on the front.

“You know, it’s only fair that I get to take a piece of Atlantis with me now,” Barry says, standing with his hands on his hips as he admires the newest installation. “Since technically I’m leaving a piece of myself—”

“If you take anything, Vulko will cut your hand off and leave it for the sharks,” Arthur says, grinning.

Wide-eyed, Barry looks at Vulko, who simply shrugs. “Hyperbole.”

Not far from the truth. It’s one of Arthur’s favourite threats.

“Well, can I at least get a tour or something? Like, can I make a memory down here, or is this one of those touristy ‘I visited Atlantis and all I got was this painted seashell’ scenarios?”

If it would satisfy Barry’s desire to carry something Atlantean back to the surface, Arthur would gladly let him take a chest full of seashells back. Unfortunately, he hasn’t yet figured out how exactly Barry’s going to get back to the surface. Without the manacles tethering them together, Arthur won’t be able to blindly lead him back up, and it’s not like he’ll be able to hold Barry’s wrist and guide him back to shallow waters when he’s in full vibrate mode. 

“If I can find a way to get you back up there without losing you to the Trench, I’ll bring you something cool,” Arthur promises. “Right now, we gotta solve that problem first.”

“Oh, right.” Barry spins in place for a moment, as though waiting for a convenient solution to materialize out of the air. 

Arthur rubs his chin and stares at Vulko, who seems more than fascinated by Barry. He’s met a few people from the surface in the past, but Arthur can guarantee that nobody in Atlantis has met anyone like Barry Allen.

“What about you? Any suggestions?”

“Hm,” Vulko says, once it seems like his curiosity has been satisfied. He aims a small, private smile at Arthur. “I may have just the thing.”

—

A week later, Arthur feels something strange in the ocean.

It would be a mistake to say he speaks to water, or to suggest that all fish immediately know to go to him when someone shouts ‘Aquaman’ into the wind. Most of the time, he can’t (or simply doesn’t care to) tell one person sloshing in the Atlantic from another in the Arctic, but he knows this particular feeling: a vibration, a disturbance in the Pacific originating from some far northwestern corner of North America. 

He’d felt it on the way to Atlantis, when he and Barry had traveled through water so deep that becoming tangible would have killed Barry instantly, and he recognizes it easily as the same sensation now. It feels like shudder in the ocean current, like the water doesn’t quite know whether it wants to be water or evaporate into steam, and it reaches him molecule by molecule, as if to say ‘hey, dude, here I am’.

An excitation. A tremulation.

That’s Barry.

*

The Flash’s red suit is strewn in pieces across the ground on the beach when Arthur arrives. It’s not a public beach by any means, merely a small, rocky section of land located on the northern coast of British Columbia, but to Arthur’s surprise, Barry is wearing a pair of swim trunks and paddling around in the water, seemingly content to be here all the same.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” Barry asks by way of greeting. “Found this place all by myself. There’s never anyone here. It’s like my own private beach.”

“That is cool,” Arthur agrees. He sticks his quindent in the dirt and moves closer to the shore until he can sit on the least rocky part, half-buried in the surf. “You getting some use out of your new toy?”

“Nah, I didn’t even bring it,” Barry says. He drifts by, still floating on his back, a peaceful expression on his face. “Did you thank Mr. Vulko for me? Does he want it back?”

“Nope. Said you can keep it. Price of leaving a piece of yourself there, and something new for him to look at.” 

“Nice,” Barry says. His eyes slide shut and he sighs dreamily. “An ancient Atlantean helmet, used only by the most sophisticated of underwater races. People on eBay would go crazy for that stuff.”

Arthur smiles while Barry isn’t looking. Plenty of people in Atlantis would have his head if they heard him joking about selling an artifact like that. “Did you put it on eBay?”

“Nah, it’s at home on my dresser. I can’t really use it in the bath or anything, so I’m gonna find something to mount it on so I can show it off to all of my friends. A mannequin head or something.”

It’s not hard to imagine Barry donning the Atlantean helmet in a bathtub full of water, or a moderately-sized swimming pool. At least he’ll never have to worry about drowning or getting the bends if he decides to do any more deep diving.

Arthur watches Barry disappear beneath the water’s surface for a moment. He resurfaces with his hair plastered to his head, then slicks it back as water drips down his nose and from his chin. “So… any reason you wanted to hang out here?”

“Well, you see…” Barry splashes some more. Arthur’s quite sure it’s a distraction, as it takes a few seconds for him to get settled on his back again. “It’s all in the spirit of fairness. You showed me your secret swimming spot, so it’s only fair that you get to see mine. I mean, I didn’t really know if this was gonna work, you know, talking through water. It’s kind of weird.”

In the spirit of fairness. Of course.

Arthur leans forward and brushes his hand through the water. A gentle current draws him closer to the shore, and all Arthur needs to do is reach out and close his fingers around Barry’s.

Barry blinks his eyes open again and furrows his brows up at the sky, like the passing clouds are the ones responsible for holding his hand.

“You asked me about my mother,” Arthur says quietly.

Slowly, tentatively, Barry’s fingers curl around Arthur’s. “...Yeah.”

“She was Atlantean. A queen. _The_ queen.”

Barry appears to think about that for a few seconds, eyes darting back and forth across the sky. Arthur can see the clouds reflected in his pupils when Barry tips his head up to look at him, and he can almost see the gears turning in Barry’s head. ‘Was’ and ‘queen’ are pretty self-explanatory descriptors, in Arthur’s opinion.

“So you’re… you’re, like, royalty. _Actual_ Atlantean royalty.”

“Mmhm.”

Barry returns his gaze to the sky and mouths something that looks kind of like _wow_. He’s still floating in the few inches of water surrounding them, and after a few seconds he wriggles his hand free and slots his fingers in between Arthur’s.

“That’s cool,” Barry says. There are no visible bolts of lightning dancing over the surface of the water, but Arthur can feel a slight tremor in the shallows. “I’m, uh. Just a regular guy from Ohio.”

“I’m just a regular guy from Maine,” Arthur says.

Barry runs his tongue over his lips and nods up at the sky, and Arthur takes the opportunity to stretch out his legs and turn onto his side. Having those manacles would be useful for keeping Barry from floating away right about now. It's obvious that he's trying to keep his cool, eyes darting over Arthur's face as Arthur leans over him, but his hand is warm even in the water, and surprisingly steady.

He certainly doesn't lack confidence; calling Arthur here is proof enough of that.

“So if I—if you, I dunno, kissed someone underwater, would it be weird? Theoretically speaking, I mean. Would someone have to hold their breath, or would you just kinda breathe into their mouth?”

Arthur is too slow to keep Barry from finishing his sentence, but Barry’s too slow to keep Arthur from leaning down and answering the question.


End file.
